Fly
by exlempode
Summary: Roxy Lalonde has been a naive, drunk girl for a long as she and her friends can remember. What happens when her thoughts take a turn for the worse?


Roxy Lalonde sat with her back pressed against the wall, leaning against her bed frame. The room was dark, with dim light shining through the window, any and all lights either turned off, smashed to pieces, or both. Various bottles, glasses and stains covered the once clean white carpet, painted a dark rainbow with various disgusting shades of crimson, brown and yellow. The spilt vodka made it worse, blending the colors together into even uglier shades. Posters had been torn down, her entire bookshelf lying on it's side, the heavy books strewn all across her room. Her desk was toppled over, computer smashed to pieces, her phone just beside it in a heap of shattered parts. She hadn't left her room in days, though grateful that the astoundingly heavy bookshelf- which she had moved into her room for purposes of storing her drinks- was blocking the door. During the two weeks she'd locked herself in her room, the blonde had cycled between four things, three when the alcohol ran out. Sleeping, breaking everything she could get a hold of, and exactly what she was currently doing. Knees pulled up to her chest, she was curled up against the wall, arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was down, though that didn't stop the mascara from forming ugly lines all along her face, skirt soaked in alcohol and tears alike. In an agonizing episode of pain and misery, everything being thrown right back in her face, Roxy was sobbing her heart out.

The very first day she spent locked in her room she woke up only to find that she had overslept, and panicked instantly when the clock showed a time of 4 in the afternoon. _Oh my god, 4 PM?! Shit, I'll have missed so many messages, fuckin' hell._ Scrambling out of bed, she threw on some clothes and halfheartedly brushed her hair, quickly putting on some makeup before heading over to her computer. In the few minutes it took to turn on, she poured herself a margarita, taking a shot of vodka to help out before starting to sip at the drink. Waiting until the vodka took effect, mind buzzing and blurred, she checked her computer. And froze. Not a single message since she'd said Goodnight to everyone the evening before. A look of confusion creeping across her face, she double checked, knowing everyone would be wide awake and talking by now. Not a single thing. _...How is that even possible? They talk to me every morning- _Her thought process was cut off as realization hit her like a smack to the face. Every morning, Roxy was the one to start conversing with her friends. Now, thinking back, she couldn't recall a conversation that hadn't been started by her or a friend being told to talk to her. A sinking feeling settling in her gut, she leaned back, downing the rest of the glass in her hand. That day, no one attempted to contact her.

It had been the fourth day that she snapped, tears running down her face and vodka running through her blood as she picked up her laptop and threw it on the ground, grabbing the heaviest things in her room she could find and throwing one after another on top of it. Before she knew it, she had broken the leg on her desk, throwing the chair at the wall, a huge grin forming as it broke despite the sobs wracking her body. Bottles were thrown everywhere, she would break open one, down half of it and let it smash to pieces against a wall. Every single object she could find was thrown across the room in a furious rage. She had woken up on the middle of the floor two days after the ordeal with almost no memory of what had happened, sinking down under the covers and drifting off. The shelf had toppled at one point, and she had very few intact bottles left. Even with the alcohol, it was near impossible to drown out her misery. Her phone still worked perfectly fine, so she knew no one had bothered to talk to her. _Did they forget about me? 'M still here, right? They're jus' too fuckin' busy bein in loooove. Fuckin Jake and Jane all over eachother, and Strider tryin ta make out with Jake. Didja ever think that maybe **I **love someone **too**? Course not, cause no one fuckin cares about Lalonde. Who the hell gives a shit 'bout the drunk girl? Clearly **not fuckin' them.**_ She pressed her pillow to her face, screaming hoarsely into it as her body shook, wracked with silent sobs. That night, she ran out of bottles.

So now here she was, an absolute wreck, sobbing her heart out to the empty room. Sometimes she would scream, or wear herself out enough to fall asleep, but every waking moment was agony. Without the slightest drop of alcohol to mess with her mind, her situation hit her in full force. She was absolutely, completely, 100% alone, and she **hated **it. Hated the way it felt like a black hole had opened up in her chest, never to be filled. Hated the way she wanted desperately to just cave in on herself. Hated the way she broke without her anchor, the way agony and misery were in full flood with nothing to save her. The fucking mascara staining her face, the tears flowing freely down her face, the way she couldn't do shit to help it. Physically and mentally drained, she didn't know what to do with herself. The thing she hated most, though, was the fleeting hope despite everything. She would unconsciously glance up at her window or door as if someone would come to help. No one was there to help, and yet a tiny part of her had hoped for so, so long. No one showed up. She was completely alone that night.

Today, however, was different. When the blonde woke, she slowly lifted her head from her pillow. There were no tears, no burning desire to drink as much as she could nor to throw things around the room. She was completely drained, nothing but a dull ache were she had cuts and bruises and a strange tiredness clouding her mind. Soft light flooded in from her window. Slowly lifting up the covers, she sat up, turning so her legs dangled off the edge of the bed. Waiting for a moment, she stood, turning to face the window. Roxy's room was right near the top of her house, which happened to be incredibly tall. In fact, her window was facing a part where the hill sloped away, a few trees here and there building up to become the forest much farther away. Unlatching the large, heavy frame, she gave it a weak shove. It swung open, hinges along the bottom causing it to fall open and out as if a little balcony. A tiny, unstable balcony with a massive drop. There was no hesitance as she climbed out onto the window, looking out across the yard and forest. The wind was fairly strong and very cold, though she didn't mind. In a movie, the hero of the story would've swooped in and saved her before she could fall off, but this was most certainly no movie. Taking a deep breath, she thought of all of her friends, the people she knew and loved, and let them fly away like the birds above. They had already forgotten about her, they wouldn't know nor care. The sky was empty and dark as she looked up at it, a small smile forming for the first time in weeks. Taking a step backwards, there was a beautiful rush. For the first and last time in her life, Roxy flew.


End file.
